A Pretty Angel In Darkness
by C.M. James
Summary: Marla Singer. Welcome to fight club.
1. manage a trois

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the film fight club. Nor the novel. Plus to the die-hard fans, I tried to stay to the original style of writing as much as possible!

The first time in fight club was nothing less than an outer body experience. Nothing less than a life lesson about yourself after getting your ass kicked. I had devolved into the useless shit hiding a sea of insecurities with the materialist ways Tyler had tried so hard to break me out of.

All because of Marla Singer.

The bitch was nothing less of a disease among the world. I had tried to figure out so many times of what fucked her up so bad. When she was zoning out in the kitchen in the morning after her late night screw sessions with Tyler upstairs. We would sometimes share moments over coffee. I just wondered why she never asked me if I had ever felt un-fresh. How cliché.

She would open up with clues about past experiences of her life. Moments that defined Marla Singer, the greatest mistake in the history of history. From how she was labeled a unwanted child from her own mother. To her record four abortions. I stopped listening at when she lost her virginity at twelve. It was these moments that shaped her. Marla, the only person I knew who was smart enough to know she's crazy. The only person to know she has issues but continues them because she's know that at this point in her life she can't live without them. Or at least the only person who can admit this to me.

But after the painful anecdotes. After blocking out her painful memories so soon after blocking out my own. When we would then bond in a sick and twisted sort of way. Tyler would walk in, and fuck it all up. This would be the exact moment that Marla would leave. Mumbling to herself and disappearing into the darkness. She would never leave the house.

"Bad time?" Tyler asked.

I would say nothing. At times nothing was the best answer when silence explained it all. Tyler would casually walk over to the space Marla had once occupied. And smoke the already lit leftover cigarette in the ashtray. Wearing that damn frilly robe. I imagined that Marla tried to pass on her pain to others in an attempt for someone to console her. Like she sent of radars to others telling her that she was a worthless bitch with issues but wanted to matter. I believe this was one of the reasons she went to my support group meetings. Though I never knew why testicular cancer was her favorite.

Faker.

If anything I should be where Marla is at currently. Ground Zero. Rock bottom. UN-savable. The very definition of pathetic. But unlike Marla someone actually cared about me, this is where Tyler came in to this emotional manage a trios. However there was a break in the chain. Tyler hated Marla. Marla hated Tyler. No one hated me. I hated myself. Eventually I became involved with this disease on the world. I understand her.

I am Marla's longing for a purpose.

This is how I learned that Marla was just like me. These "it should be televised" rap sessions. Marla. Spilling her soul. Though I doubt someone like her even had one. This is how I came to the conclusion, that Marla Singer. This disease on the world. Belonged to fight club.

The night was pretty much the same. I herd the banging of the walls. The distant moaning. Then the loud screaming. How great it must be when you're empty but high on your quick fix. How great it must feel to give in to that forbidden vice. And then hate yourself for it. In the morning Tyler interrupted us. Marla and me. Marla left. But this time I chased after her. She turns and says to me.

"What now?"

I say.

"Come here."

She turns away but I say once again to come here. And she eventually looks me in the eye. With those big brown eyes that makes her look like she should be in an anime cartoon. I explain to her about a place where she could let all of that self-taught control go.

I broke the first rule.

I TALKED ABOUT FIGHT CLUB.

Marla's big ass eyes widen even more. A ghostly creek of a smile appears on her thin ass lips. Without a reply. She leaves. I lean back on the walls and exhale deeply. Though it world is fun to see Tyler when he sees the disease in our clubhouse. With a no Marla's allowed sign outside. I then smell a strange aroma coming form the kitchen. Tyler was cooking something for breakfast. I was afraid to find out what.

The night comes and we ride along in Tyler car. We both slightly bob our heads to the rap music playing in the car. We pull up to our secret location. And there stands Marla. Wearing a black feathered jacket with some old boots from a dumpster or goodwill. Looking just as delicate as ever.

Tyler and I exit the car. He walks over to Marla in his shades and Red leather jacket like the "cool kid" he is. He leans over to Marla as if they are about to kiss. I stand in the distance witnessing the most quiet argument ever had. I only hear the last sentence Marla says. I WANT IN. Tyler walks into fight club; he opens the door, which illuminates him from the florescent light. Marla and me hear the loud cheers form men, which soon disappear after the door is shut.

Marla walks over to me. She looks at me like I'm her savoir. Like without me she probably would have still been a disease. I'm not sure about the savior part but this certainly was her miracle. Her cure to her disease.

I am Marla's anticipation.

She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a small baggie of cocaine. She dips into her stash with her long black fingernail. And snorts a bump.

"Jesus Marla." I say.

She looks up at me once again, her eyes fully dilated. She says.

"Just a little boost. Nothing too serious. Swear to god I don't have a problem but I can if you want me to. "

I smile at Marla's weak attempt at a joke. But then remember that I may have given the poor girl a death sentence. She puts the drugs away. And we walk in. Into the fluorescent light. Into the screaming and yelping. We walk right into the group where a fight is already taking place. Marla and I watch. This is the moment where I smile for real. How I think how I could kick the other guy's ass.

I'm not Jack.

I'm not Marla.

I'm not Tyler.

I'm a self-destructive war machine.

Soon after the fight ends Tyler calls us over. We all group together and listen. He explains the rules of fight club as he sees the new faces. Not including Marla. He explains how if it is your first time here you have to fight. His head pans over to me. Then to Marla. I wouldn't have been surprised if he looked at us. I wouldn't have been if he didn't. Marla volunteers to go first, Tyler happily obliges. I would have loved to see Marla and Tyler fight. But then again it would probably end up in sex. Right on the bloody floor.

I'm not really sure if I waned to fight Marla. Destroy such a gaunt bloodless face that I fantasized about. Which I hated myself for. A skinny guy volunteered. I imagined he was fighting his mother. Marla stripped off her jacket and boots with a grin. She wore nothing but a black bra and skirt. Now this was truly guilty pleasure entertainment. Mr. Skinny threw the first punch. Knocking out Marla's tooth. With that punch Marla suddenly felt her chains break away. That the angel wings spread or the feeling of her first time really enjoying sex was replayed over and over again. I saw her face light up. And I saw her make a fist. The whole experience was in slow motion for me. The returned the favor of Mr. Skinny liberating her. With a returning punch.

Marla threw another punch. The another. By the end of her turn she was practically slapping the hell out of him. She yelled something about her "asshole matriarch." Mr. Skinny kneed Marla in the gut. He sucker punched her in the jaw. And she dropped to the floor. Mr. Skinny shook his hand trying to relive the pain. Smiling in triumph. Marla charged at him in retaliation knocking him down. Marla prowled like a cat and held her clawed hand in the air. She swooped it across Mr. Skinny's right cheek. Leaving one bloody scratch mark from every nail.

Her hand then gripped a fistful of Mr. Skinny's thick matted blonde hair. She pulled it up then slammed it back down to the concrete floor. Knocking him out. Marla fell backward, and the crowd cheered. She looked at me from upside down. And smiled with her bloody grin. Surprisingly, I smiled back.

Chapter 2 coming soon!

R&R please!


	2. The Renaissance Hotel

After I tend to Marla's wounds she suggests we go onto the roof of the Renaissance Hotel near the edge of downtown. I couldn't understand a word Marla was saying but I nodded anyway. She was almost tragic looking; her hair was now cut to neck and painted, not dyed, black. We sat on the rooftop of the hotel looking over the city. By the time the sun went down we had already went through all of the cigarette packets that belonged to Tyler. All I can think about is Tyler; he starts to disappear more and more as he has since learned about my betrayal. My friendship with Marla Singer. The last time Tyler and I spoke we were both smoking heroin at Marla's apartment in Northeast Apartment complex near the dock. She looks even more attractive than she did yesterday, when she was only as Tyler affectionately put it a "wad of dough". Marla taps my shoulder and I snap out of my train of thought. She's smiling, shaking a new pack of Marlboros she has found in her purse.

"That's great." I say.

Marla rips the pack open and take her first puff. She grins as soon as she exhales smoke. Her teeth are white but misshapen, the ashes fall on leather jacket about four sizes too big, covering her denim shorts stained with yellow paint. Marla coughs in the middle of smoking and nearly chokes on what she's inhaled and we both laugh for a moment.

"I've started painting again, have I told you that?" Marla sputters.

"No." I take another cigarette.

"I'm not sure if I should really do anything now, now that I'm supposed to be a human sacrifice and all. This premature enlightenment thing, but I don't know, what do you think?" She's slurring.

Marla wants me to agree with her, say that this would be the move she needed to break away from me so I crack a smile and let Marla interpret that how she wishes. I begin to tune out from Marla's one sided conversation and think of Tyler again. He has since dyed his hair black, obviously to mock me. It's Tyler's own fault that she's not in the spotlight today. This whole post anti-neo consumerist philosophy of his going down the drain. Tyler said that her true passion was sculpting people. The excuse is strange, I know. Tyler just wants to live his life that way I guess.

Marla takes her last breath with the cigarette and throws it over the roof. She blows the smoke into the dark sky and we both fall over onto the concrete top watching stars. Marla speaks my thoughts into existence, as of now I have no need to speak. Her hair has become stained from the paint. It's strange because instead of black, chestnut seems to be the color. I tell her that she should keep it that way. Marla tells me to piss off. We're now beginning to fall asleep until we hear distant screams, we both rise and panic. Looking over the roof we see two dumpsters have caught on fire. Marla runs first; I try to follow but trip over the gravel on the edge of the rooftop. We take the fire escape down, and then run off into the night.


End file.
